Holmes, Watson and Jones
by Sanura Bey
Summary: The woman who'd do anything for him is his best friend, Amelia Jones. What will be different with her? What will remain the same? Only one way to find out!


OCTOBER 13TH

"My husband was a happy man who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work – and that he should have taken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him." The wife of Sir Jeffrey said at a police conference. I turned my phone to a woman in a purple shirt and knee length black skirt with hose and black pumps. Professional attire. Secretary. She was trying to hold back her tears and was successful except for one tear. Mistress.

* * *

NOVEMBER 27TH

An article in The Daily Express headline: "Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports center". I read the paper and handed it to my best friend.

"What do you think?" I asked him.

"They'll come to us with more information." he said looking over a new case that he was looking at.

* * *

JANUARY 28TH

I was at the police conference listening to what Detective Inspector Lestrade and Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan had come up with.

"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now." Sergeant Donavan told the reporters.

"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" a reporter asked him.

"Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ..." Lestrade told them.

"But you can't have serial suicides." the same reporter asked him.

"Well, apparently you can." Lestrade told him and I rolled my eyes.

"These three people: there's nothing that links them?" Another reporter asked and I messed with my phone for a moment.

"There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one." Lestrade told them. Everyone's mobile phone went off simultaneously.

**Wrong!**

"If you've all got texts, please ignore them." Donovan told us.

"Just says, 'Wrong'." a reporter said.

"Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end." Donovan said.

"But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?" a reporter asked. I messed with my phone again as Lestrade answered the question.

"As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating..." Everybody's mobile went off again with another message.

**Wrong!**

"Says, 'Wrong' again." the reporter told him. I smiled as Lestrade looked despairingly at Sally.

"One more question." Donovan told the reporters.

"Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?" a reporter asked them.

"I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered." Lestrade told them.

"Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?" a reporter asked him.

"Well, don't commit suicide." Donovan said and I held back my laughter as people looked at her in shock. She covered her mouth a murmured to Lestrade. I looked to my phone then back to the conference.

"Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be." Lestrade told them. Everyone but Lestrade's phone goes off with another message.

**Wrong!**

Lestrade's phone went off a moment later with a different message all together. After he read it he looked exasperated as he put his phone back into his pocket and looked at the reporters and stood.

"Thank you." he said and everyone left.

* * *

I walked into the morgue to see Sherlock flog a body repeatedly and violently with a riding crop and I smiled.

"Normal day then?" I asked him when he stopped.

"So-so." he told me before he pulled out a notebook to write in it.

"So, bad day, was it?" Molly asked walking to us. Sherlock ignored her and continued his writing.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me." he told her.

"Better yet, text me. He'll have left his phone somewhere." I told her before walking away.

"Listen, I was wondering: maybe later, when you're finished ..." I glanced back at them in time to see Sherlock to do a double-take and frown at her.

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before." Sherlock noticed.

"I, er, I refreshed it a bit." she said nervously and I smiled. She had an obvious crush on him but he almost ignored it. He never bothered with silly things like relationships. She smiled flirtatiously at him but he just went back to writing.

"Sorry, you were saying?" he asked her.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee." she said hopefully. He put his notebook away and nodded to her.

"Black, two sugars, please. Amy, do you want something?" I shook my head at him. "We'll be upstairs." He told Molly before we walked away.

* * *

Sherlock and I were standing at the far end of the lab using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish. when the door opened after a small knock. I glanced up to see Mike and I man I didn't know walking in. I smiled knowing Sherlock will know almost everything we needed to know about the man from his glance.

"Well, bit different from my day." the man said. So he was a doctor? Interesting. He passed up the chair close to him and stood at the end of the table so the limp must have been new. I gave him a once over and gathered all I could.

"You've no idea!" Mike said chuckling.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." Sherlock said sitting down.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked.

"I prefer to text." Sherlock said.

"Sorry. It's in my coat." Mike said. "What about Amy's phone?" he asked looking at me.

"We share the same phone company and plan." I told him as Sherlock moved over so I could look in the microscope. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the man fish in his back pocket and pull out his mobile.

"Er, here. Use mine." he said and I looked up at him then to Sherlock.

"Oh. Thank you." Sherlock said going to the man. He glanced briefly at Mike.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike introduced. Sherlock reached Mr. Watson and took the phone offered to him. Turning partially away from him, he flipped open the keypad and started to type on it.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked and I smiled. Mr. Watson frowned.

"Sorry?" Mr. Watson asked him, confused.  
"Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked him again. Sherlock briefly raised his eyes to Mr. Watson's face before looking back to the phone. Mr. Watson hesitated before looking to Mike, confused.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?" Mr. Watson started asked him but Molly walked in with Sherlock's coffee.

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He shut the phone down and handed it back to Mr. Watson as Molly brought the mug of coffee to him. He studied her face as he took the mug to notice her looking paler again. "What happened to the lipstick?"

"It wasn't working for me." she told him awkwardly.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." Sherlock said walking back to me, taking a sip from the mug he knew I'd steal from him before grimacing at the taste. Cancel the theft of coffee.

"... Okay." she said before walking back to the door.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked Mr. Watson. Mr. Watson looked at Molly as she left before glancing at Mike. He then turned to me and I shook my head grabbing the coffee and smelling it. I made a face and put it down. No thanks.

"He's speaking to you Mr. Watson." I told him.

"I'm sorry, what?" Mr. Watson asked Sherlock again as Sherlock was typing on a keyboard.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." Sherlock stopped typing and looked at Mr. Watson. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock threw him a false smile who looked to Mike.

"Oh, you ... you told him about me?" Mr. Watson said to Mike.

"Not a word." Mike told him.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" Mr. Watson asked Sherlock.

"I did." Sherlock said putting his coat on.

"We told Mike this morning that we must be a difficult people to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap." I said grabbing my own coat.

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" Mr. Watson asked but Sherlock ignored the question and wrapped his scarf around his neck before picking up his mobile and checking it.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together the three of us ought to be able to afford it." Sherlock said walking towards Mr. Watson with me behind him. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

"You did and next time use gloves." I told him and turned to me with a smile. He put his phone into the inside pocket of his coat and we walked past Mr. Watson heading to the door.

"Is that it?" Mr. Watson asked us. Sherlock turned from the door and strolled closer to Mr. Watson again.

"Is that what?" Sherlock asked him.

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" Mr. Watson asked.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked him. Mr. Watson smiled in disbelief and looked to Mike for help. I glanced at Mike to see him smiling.

"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your names." Mr. Watson said and I held back my smile, horribly.

"We know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid." Mr. Watson looked down at his leg and cane before shuffling awkwardly at Sherlock's deductions. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" Sherlock asked him smugly.

"Be nice, Sherlock." I told him and he glanced at me with another smile on his face. Sherlock joined me at the door again and walked out before leaning back into the room again.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street." Sherlock said giving Dr. Watson a click-wink and looking at Mike. "Afternoon." Mike raised a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappeared form the room.

"My name's Amelia Jones. Nice to meet you Dr. Watson." I said walking behind my friend. "What do you think?" I asked him once I caught up with him.

"He'll do." he said and I smiled.

"I thought he might.

* * *

The next day when we arrived at Baker Street we saw Dr. Watson knock on the door as our cab pulled up. Sherlock got out first and payed the cabbie as I got out.

"Hello." Sherlock greeted the doctor. "Thank you." he said and we walked to the door.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes. Miss Jones." he greeted.

"Sherlock and Amy, please." Sherlock told him as we all shook hands.

"It's nice to see you again Dr. Watson." I said smiling.

"Just call me John, please." he said and I nodded my head. "Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." John said looking it over.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving us a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. We were able to help out." Sherlock told him.

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?" John asked looking at us and I smiled.

"Oh no. We ensured it." I told him as the door was opened by said land lady, who opened her arms to us.

"Sherlock, Amy, hello." she said. Sherlock turned and walked into her arms, hugging her briefly, then stepped back and I hugged her tightly.

"Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson." Sherlock said introducing them.

"Hello." she said with a smile.

"How do?" John said with a smile.

"Come in." she said gesturing the boys and I inside.

"Thank you." John said.

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah." the three of us went inside and she closed the door behind us. Sherlock and I trotted up the stairs to the first floor, then paused and waited for John to hobble upstairs. Sherlock turned and gave me a look and I gave him another. As John reached up, Sherlock opened the door ahead of us and we walked in, revealing the living room of the flat. John followed us in and looked around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John said and I smiled.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock said looking around the flat happily.

"I should hope so." I said looking to them.

"So I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh." They both said at the same time and I held back my laughter at the embarrassment from John."So this is all ..."

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Sherlock said as he walked across the room and made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he put them onto the mantelpiece and then stabbed a multi tool knife into them.

"That's a skull." John said, pointing at it with his cane.

"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend' ..." Sherlock said dropping off.

"I gave it to him." I told him. "Gran doesn't like him much though." I said.

"Who's your gran?" John asked and I nodded to my Gran, who'd followed us into the room. She picked up a cup and saucer as Sherlock took off his greatcoat and scarf. I pulled my coat off and placed it on one of the chairs in the room.

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms." Gran told him.

"Of course we'll be needing two." John told her and I smiled.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door's got married ones." Gran told him before walking away from him slightly. John looked across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John were not involved in that way but Sherlock appeared oblivious to what was being insinuated. Gran walked across to the kitchen, then turned back and frowns at Sherlock and I.

"Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made." she said before going in and tidying up. John walked over to one of the two armchairs, plumped up a cushion on the chair and then dropped heavily down into it. He looked across to Sherlock who is still tidying up a little.

"I looked you up on the internet last night." John told him.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked him after setting up his computer.

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction." John said.

"What did you think?" Sherlock asked him. John threw him a look saying he had to have been joking and Sherlock looked hurt.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." John said, remembering what he'd read. I'd made the website for Sherlock since Sherlock didn't believe in remembering anything that wouldn't help him in the long run.

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." Sherlock told him.

"How?" John asked and I smiled and glanced at Sherlock. Gran came back into the living room reading the newspaper.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." She said putting the paper down. Sherlock walked to the window of the living room as we watched him.

"Four." he said and I joined him at the window to see a man getting out of a car with its lights flashing on the roof. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time." Sherlock said.

"A fourth?" Gran asked as Sherlock and I turned to see D.I. Lestrade trot up the stairs and come into the living room.

"Where?" Sherlock asked.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." he told us.

"What's new about this one?" I asked him.

"What makes you think there's anything new?" he asked me.

"You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." Sherlock told him and he sighed.

"You know how they never leave notes?" he asked.

"Yeah." Sherlock answered.

"This one did. Will you come?" Lestrade asked us.

"Who's on forensics?" I asked him.

"It's Anderson." Lestrade said and I made a disgusted face. The first time we met Anderson he'd hit on me and Sherlock threatened him. We were now his least favorite people.

"Anderson won't work with us." Sherlock said.

"Well, he won't be your assistant." Lestrade said.

"I need an assistant." Sherlock insisted.

"And what about Amy?" Lestrade asked him.

"She hates being my assistant." he told him and I nodded and Lestrade sighted.

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked.

"Not in a police car. We'll be right behind." Sherlock told him.

"Thank you." Lestrade said before looking around at John and Gran for a moment. He finally turned and hurried off down the stairs. Sherlock and I watched for him to get back into his car before Sherlock leaped into the air and clenched his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" he said picking up my coat and tossing it to me then grabbing his coat and scarf and we started getting ready to go before he left for the kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." she told him and I smiled. She'd play housekeeper as well as landlady for us.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" Sherlock said grabbing a small leather pouch from the kitchen table and going into his room that we'd share.

"What about John?" I asked him suddenly.

"What about him?" he asked me.

"You need an assistant and he is a doctor." I said walking to him. He looked up to me smiling and I grinned at him.

"You already have a plan." I said reading his face.

"Sometimes I could just kiss you." he told me and walked away. I took a deep breath and followed my long time friend out. We walked into the living room to see John looking at the newspaper.

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor." Sherlock said drawing his attention to us.

"Yes." John told us getting to his feet and turning to Sherlock as he came into the room.

"Any good?" Sherlock asked him.

"Very good." John told us.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths." Sherlock said drawing John in.

"Mmm, yes." John said.

"Bit of trouble too, I bet." I said drawing his attention to me.

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much." John said and I smiled.

"Wanna see some more?" Sherlock asked him.

"Oh God, yes." John said and I went downstairs with the boys behind me.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out." John called to Gran.

"All of you?" Gran asked us. We'd almost reached the door when Sherlock turned and walked back to her.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock said taking her by the shoulders and kissing her noisily on the cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Gran said smiling at us as he turned away and headed for the front door again.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" he said before he walked onto the street and hailed a cab. "Taxi!" the taxi pulled up alongside and we got in then the car drove off again and headed for Brixton. We sat in silence for a long time while Sherlock stared at his phone and John kept stealing nervous glances at him. "Okay, you've got questions."

"Yeah, where are we going?" John asked us.

"Crime scene. Next?" he asked him.

"Who are you? What do you do?" John asked us.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked him.

"I'd say private detective ..." John said slowly.

"But?" I asked him.

"... but the police don't go to private detectives." John said.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." Sherlock told him.

"And you?" he asked me.

"I'm a scientist. I can read micro expressions and body language as well as a profile people." I told him.

"What does any of that mean?" John asked.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult us." Sherlock told him.

"The police don't consult amateurs." John said and Sherlock threw him a look.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised." Sherlock said and I got comfortable.

"Yes, how did you know?" John asked.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock told him.

"You said I had a therapist." John said.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother." Sherlock said going off again.

"Hmm?" John asked him.

"Your phone." Sherlock said holding out his hand for said phone and John handed it over. "It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already." Sherlock said.

"The engraving." John said. Sherlock turned it over to look at the engraving.

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking." Sherlock explained to him.

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John asked him.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." Sherlock said, giving John back his phone. "There you go, you see – you were right."

"I was right? Right about what?" John asked him.

"The police don't consult amateurs." I told him before holding Sherlock's hand and looking out the window.

"That ... was amazing." I smiled and looked at John. I knew Sherlock would be surprised but I'd read and profiled John already.

"Do you think so?" Sherlock asked him.

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." John told him.

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock told him.

"What do people normally say?" John asked us.

"'Piss off'!" I told him smiling at John who grinned and turned away to look out of the window as our journey continued.

* * *

The cab arrived at Lauriston Gardens and we got out and walked towards the police tape strung across the road.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked John.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker." John told us.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Sherlock said looking proud at himself.

"And Harry's short for Harriet." John told us and we stopped and I stared at him.

"Harry's your sister." I said.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John said continuing without us.

"Sister!" Sherlock said furiously through gritted teeth.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John asked us again.

"There's always something." Sherlock told me.

"Their, their love. You'll get everything next time." I told him as we approached the police tape only to meet Sergeant Donovan.

"Hello, freaks." She greeted us.

"We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock told him.

"Why?" she asked him.

"We were invited." I told her.

"Why?" She asked me.

"I think he wants us to take a look." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" She asked him as he lifted the tape and we ducked underneath.

"Always, Sally." Sherlock said breathing in through his nose. "I even know you didn't make it home last night." I read her face and saw surprise before it quickly turned to anger.

"Oh, look at that surprise and anger all over your face." I said and she glared at me. She hated what I could do.

"I don't ..." She started saying before looking at John. "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson." Sherlock introduced. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!" she asked before turning to John. "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and ..." John started saying but he was stopped.

"No." Sherlock and I said at the same time as Sherlock held the tape for him. John walked under the tape and Donovan lifted a radio to her mouth.

"The freaks are here. Bringing them in." She began to lead us towards the house and Sherlock and I were looking around the area at the ground as we approached. As we reached the pavement Anderson, dressed in a coverall came out of the house.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock said and Anderson looked at him with distaste.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" Anderson told us and Sherlock took another deep breath and I smiled.

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" Sherlock asked him.

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that." Anderson said, anger and confidence clouding his face.

"Your deodorant told me that." Sherlock told him.

"My deodorant?" Anderson asked him confused.

"It's for men." Sherlock said with a quirky expression and a slight jump.

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!" Anderson said.

"So's Sergeant Donovan." I said smiling. they both looked at us in shock before turning to each other.

"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May we go in?" Sherlock asked.

"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ..." Anderson started saying.

"I'm not implying anything." Sherlock said heading past Donovan towards the front door with me behind him. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over."

'And she must have scrubbed your floors, going by her knees." I said and they both stared at us in horror and I turned to Sherlock. We smiled at each other and went inside he house with John behind us. We entered a room and saw Lestrade putting on a coverall.

"You need to wear one of these." Sherlock said to John pointing at another pair of coveralls.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked us as Sherlock took off his black gloves.

"He's with us." Sherlock told him.

"But who is he?" Lestrade asked again.

"I said he's with me." Sherlock said again. John picked up a coverall then looked at Sherlock and myself as we grabbed our latex gloves.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?" John asked us. Sherlock and I gave him a look and he shook his head.

"So where are we?" I asked Lestrade.

"Upstairs." he told us. Lestrade led us up a circular staircase, both he and John wearing coveralls with white cotton coverings over their shoes and latex gloves. Sherlock and I hated the coveralls so we never wore them going with one the latex gloves. "I can give you two minutes."

"May need longer." Sherlock told him.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Lestrade said as he led us two stories above the ground floor. The room was empty of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting has been set up, presumably by the police. Scaffolding poles held up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes have been knocked through one of the walls. A woman's body was lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She was wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. Her hands were flat on the floor on both sides of her head. Sherlock and I walked a few steps into the room and he held out his hand to stop me from moving forward. He held out one hand in front of himself as he focused on the corpse. I glanced behind me to see John's face fill with pain and sadness. The four of us stood silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looked across to Lestrade.

"Shut up." he said.

"I didn't say anything."Lestrade said startled by Sherlock. I walked closer to the body and studied her.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Sherlock told him. I glanced up to see the surprised looks on Lestrade and John then turned back to the corpse. Jennifer Wilson was left handed, due to her nail polish being chipped off as she was trying to write RACHE into the floorboards. Sherlock squatted down beside the body and ran his gloved hand along the back of her coat, then lifted his hand again to look at his fingers. By the look of her outfit she was part of the media. She'd coordinated everything to match: shoes, overcoat, lipstick, hair ties, everything. The only things not pink was her jewelry. Gold. I squatted down and and searched her pockets to find a train ticket. I showed it to Sherlock and he went back to his deductions. I stood up when I'd finished and removed my gloves and waited for Sherlock.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked us.

"Not much." Sherlock said, standing up and removing his gloves. He pulled out his phone and began typing on it.

"She's German." Anderson said, leaning against the door frame. "'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something …" Sherlock walked quickly toward the door and closed it in Anderson's face.

"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock said sarcastically before the door slammed shut. He turned and walked back to us on his phone.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night ..." Sherlock said smiling at his phone. "... before returning home to Cardiff." he finally pocketed his phone after he'd found the information he needed. "So far, so obvious."

"Sorry – obvious?" John asked and I smiled. I walked to the window and looked outside, trying to imagine this place with no police guards.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asked and I rolled my eyes after getting the information I needed. This was a secluded area large enough for a car to get to. She wasn't native to London so she didn't have a car. She could have had someone meet her at the station and they brought her here. That wouldn't fit the profile I'd made from what I knew of the killer.

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock asked John.

"Of the message?" John asked him.

"Of the body. You're a medical man." I said walking to Sherlock's side.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside." Lestrade said pointing to the door.

"They won't work with me." Sherlock said.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you two in here." Lestrade pointed out to us.

"Yes ... because you need us." Sherlock pointed out. Lestrade stared at us for a moment, then lowered his eyes helplessly.

"Yes, I do. God help me." Lestrade said.

"Doctor Watson." Sherlock said.

"Hm?" John looked up from the body to Sherlock and I then turned his head toward Lestrade, silently seeking his permission. Sherlock rolled his eyes and I nudged him. He smiled down at me and I continued watching John.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." Lestrade said turning and going outside the room. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes." The three of us crowded the body and squatted down on each side of it.

"Well?" Sherlock asked him.

"What am I doing here?" John asked softly.

"Helping me make a point." Sherlock told him.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent." John reminded him.

"Yeah, well, this is more fun." I said smiling at him.

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead." John said looking at me slightly shocked.

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Sherlock said to him. John leaned forward to look more closely at the body so he could examine it. He put his head close to hers and sniffs, then straightened a little before lifting her right hand and looking at the skin. He knelt up and looked to us.

"Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs." John suggested.

"You know what it was. You've read the papers." Sherlock told him.

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth ...?" John started asked but was interrupted.

"Sherlock, Amy – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade told us and we stood up.

"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; Probably something in the media, going by the shade of pink." I told him.

"Traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." Sherlock said.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked him.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married." Sherlock told him.

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..." Lestrade said.

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple." Sherlock said.

"That's brilliant." John said admirably. "Sorry." he said wen we turned to them.

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock asked him.

"It's not obvious to me." John said and Sherlock looked between the two of them.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." Sherlock said.

"Be nice." I said nudging him.

"Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff." Sherlock said showing them the weather map on his phone.

"That's fantastic!" John said and we turned to him again.

"D'you know you do that out loud?" I asked him.

"Sorry. I'll shut up." he said.

"No, it's ... fine." Sherlock said looking at me.

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked him.

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is." Sherlock said spinning around trying to find the case.

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade asked him.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" Sherlock asked.

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked him.

"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." Sherlock explained. "Now where is it, what have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade told him and I looked to Lestrade and then to Sherlock frowning.

"Say that again." I told him.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Lestrade said and Sherlock headed for the door with me behind him.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" Sherlock called to the officers in the house.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade called down to us. We slowed down but continued moving.

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves." I said.

"There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them." Sherlock insulted them.

"Right, yeah, thanks! And ...?" Lestrade asked him.

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings." Sherlock called up to him. We stopped and he held up his hands in front of his face in delight and I smiled. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade asked.

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car." I said aiming the last bit at Sherlock.

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John suggested.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." I froze in my sentence and looked at Sherlock realizing what we'd missed. He grinned at me as he caught my train of thought. "Oh." His eyes widened and his face lite up.

"Oh!" he clapped his hands in delight/

"Sherlock? Amy?" John called down to us.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade asked us.

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Sherlock said.

"We can't just wait!" Lestrade told us.

"Oh, we're done waiting!" Sherlock called up to him as we rushed downstairs again. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" He called up as we reached the bottom of the stairs and walked out of the house.

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade called and we ran in and looked back up at him.

"PINK!" We shouted out before running off again.

* * *

"We're looking for someone low on the rung in this. Their is a mastermind but he's not doing the killings, he's hiring someone else to do them. Someone desperate enough, yet clever enough, to kill all those people and not get discovered for months. The mastermind will be tough to find because he keeps his head lower then the dirt he walks on. He will want to test you himself but he wants to see how you do against his dog first." I told Sherlock. Sherlock was lying stretched out on the sofa with his head towards the window and resting on a cushion. With his jacket off and his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up his arms, he had his eyes closed and he was pressing the palm of his right hand firmly onto the underside of his left arm just below the elbow. After some seconds his eyes snapped open wide and he stared fixedly up towards the ceiling, then he sighed out a noisy breath and relaxed. I shook my head as I heard the door open and turned to see John come through the door, then stop and stare as Sherlock repeatedly clenches and unclenches his left fist.

"What are you doing?" John asked him glancing at both of us.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think." Sherlock said lifting his right hand to show that he had three nicotine patches stuck to his arm that he'd been applying the pressure to release the substances more quickly. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." he said lying about the reason he used them.

"It's good news for breathing." John said sitting down.

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring." Sherlock told him and I smiled.

"Is that three patches?" John asked him.

"It's a three-patch problem." Sherlock said putting his hands in a praying position. He closed his eyes and John looked around the room for a moment before looking at Sherlock again.

"Well?" John asked and I looked at him confused. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important." I glanced at Sherlock who still didn't respond instantly, but after a couple of seconds his eyes snapped open.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock asked him.

"My phone?" John asked him.

"Don't wanna use mine or Sherlock's. Always a chance that the numbers will be recognized. It's on the website." I told him.

"Mrs Hudson's got a phone." John pointed out.

"Yeah, she's downstairs. We tried shouting but she didn't hear." Sherlock told him.

"I was the other side of London." John told us angrily.

"There was no hurry." I told him with a smile on my face. John glared at us as Sherlock gazed serenely at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. Eventually John dug his phone out of his jacket pocket and held it toward him.

"Here." Without opening his eyes, Sherlock held out his right hand with the palm up. John glowered at him for a moment, then stepped forward and slapped the phone into his hand. Sherlock slowly lifted his arm and put his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms. John turned and walked a few paces away before turning around again.

"So what's this about – the case?" John asked.

"Her case." I corrected him.

"Her case?" John asked us.

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously." Sherlock told him.

"The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake." I told him.

"Okay, he took her case. So?" John asked us.

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." Sherlock said to himself before raising his voice a little. He imperiously held the phone out to John, still not looking at us. "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text." John half-smiled in angry disbelief at him.

"You brought me here ... to send a text." John said to him.

"Text, yes. The number on my desk. Sherlock said as he continued to hold the phone out while John glowered at him. Just like everyone else we'd met he was probably wondering if he could kill Sherlock and/or myself and get away with it. Eventually he stomped across the room and snatched the phone from Sherlock's hand. Sherlock refolded his hands under his chin and closed his eyes shut. I watched John walk over to the window instead of the table and look out of it into the street below.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"Just met a friend of yours." he told us and I looked at Sherlock in confusion. We didn't have many friends.

"A friend?"Sherlock asked him.

"An enemy." John corrected. I saw Sherlock immediately relax and I relaxed with him. Enemies we could handle but we'd been the only friends we'd had ever since grade school.

"Oh. Which one?" Sherlock asked him.

"Your arch-enemy, according to him. Do people have arch-enemies?" John asked us and I glanced at Sherlock and sighed. He was up to his old tricks again.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked him.

"Yes." John answered.

"Did you take it?" I asked him.

"No." he told us.

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Sherlock said getting comfortable again.

"Who is he?" John asked us.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now." Sherlock said quietly. "On my desk, the number." Sherlock instructed John. I saw John give him a dark look before walking to the desk and picking up a piece of paper we'd taken from the luggage label.

"Jennifer Wilson. That was ... Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?" John asked turning to us.

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." Sherlock told him and John shook his head. He got his phone ready and started to type the number onto it. "Are you doing it?"

"Yes." John said.

"Have you done it?" I asked him.

"Ye... hang on!" John said angrily.

"These words exactly: "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out."" Sherlock instructed him. ""Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come."" As John was texting he suddenly looked up at us.

"You blacked out?" John asked him.

"What? No. No!" Sherlock said flipping his legs around and standing up, taking the shortest route towards the kitchen by going over the coffee table beside the sofa rather than around it.

"Just type and send it quickly." I told John as Sherlock brought the small pink suitcase into the living room. Walking over to the dining table, he lifted one of the dining chairs and flipped it around, setting it down in front of one of the two armchairs near the fireplace. He put the suitcase onto the dining chair and sat down in the armchair. I sat on the arm of the chair as John continued typing. "Have you sent it?"

"What's the address?" John asked us.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Sherlock said impatiently. John finished the message, then looked round as Sherlock unzipped the case and flipped open the lid, revealing the contents. There are a few items of clothing and underwear – all in varying shades of pink – a wash bag, and a paperback novel by Paul Bunch entitled "Come To Bed Eyes". I noticed that as John turned toward the case he staggered slightly in shock as he realizeed what he was looking at.

"That's ... that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." he said.

"Yes, obviously." Sherlock said studying the case. I watched John stare at us and nudged Sherlock. Sherlock looked to me before following my gaze and rolling his eyes. "Oh, perhaps I should mention: we didn't kill her."

"I never said you did." John told us.

"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact I that have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption." Sherlock told him.

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John said looking at us.

"Now and then, yes." Sherlock said smiling.

"The both of you?" he asked looking at me.

"When you spend almost every waking hour with Sherlock people expect many things about you." I told him as Sherlock put his hands onto my leg and the arm of the armchair and lifted his feet up and under him so that he was perching on the seat with his backside braced against the bask rest, then clasped his hands under his chin.

"Okay ..." John said before moving across the room and dropping heavily into the armchair on the other side of the fireplace. "How did you get this?"

"By looking." I told him.

"Where?" John asked.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. We checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens ..." he said and I remembered the search.

* * *

**Flashback**

Sherlock and I were standing on the edge of a rooftop looking down into the streets below as we searched for a glimpse of anywhere the case might have been hidden by the killer.

* * *

"... and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed." Sherlock said.

* * *

**Flashback**

Sherlock and I were rooting through a large skip in an alley where we unearthed the case buried under some black plastic, then checked the luggage label attached to the handle.

"Got it." I said smiling.

* * *

"Took us less than an hour to find the right skip." I told him.

"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" John asked us.

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously." Sherlock said.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John asked himself.

"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock told him quickly. John looked across to him startled and I nudged Sherlock again. Sherlock made a placatory gesture with one hand, waving off his concern. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is." Sherlock said refolding his hands and then extended his index finger to point at the case.

"Now, look. Do you see what's missing?" I asked John.

"From the case? How could I?" John asked me and I rolled my eyes.

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it." Sherlock reminded him.

"Maybe she left it at home." John suggested. Sherlock put his hands on the arm of the chair and my leg and raised himself up so that he could lower his feet to the floor and sit properly on the chair.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home." I told him as Sherlock put the slip of paper back into the luggage label on the case and looked at John expectantly.

"Er ..." John looked down at his phone on the arm of his chair. "Why did I just send that text?" he asked us.

"Well, the question is: where is her phone now?" I told him.

"She could have lost it." John suggested.

"Yes, or ...?" Sherlock said waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

"The murderer ... You think the murderer has the phone?" John asked us.

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone." Sherlock told him.

"Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" John asked. Suddenly his phone began to ring. He picked it up and showed us the caller I.D.

**(withheld)**  
**calling**

He looks across to Sherlock and I as he let the phone ring.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer would panic." Sherlock said as the phone stopped ringing. He flipped the lid of the suitcase close and stood up, walked across the room to pick up his jacket. I stood and grabbed my coat and put it on and waited by the door.

"Have you talked to the police?" John asked us.

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police." Sherlock told him.

"So why are you talking to me?" John asked us. I glanced at Sherlock and wondered about his answer. Sherlock looked at John before glancing up at the mantle to see something missing.

"Mrs Hudson took my skull." Sherlock told him.

"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?" John asked him and I shook my head lightly.

"Relax, you're doing fine." Sherlock told him. "Well?" Sherlock asked him as John just sat there.

"Well what?" John asked him.

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly." I told him.

"What, you want me to come with you?" John asked him.

"I like a group when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention and Amy has catches on to my thought flow too quickly sometimes, so..." Sherlock explained and John smiled at him briefly.

"Problem?" I asked him.

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan." John said and I gave him a look.

"What about her?" Sherlock asked him.

"She said ... You two get off on this. You enjoy it." John told us.

"And I said "dangerous", and here you are." Sherlock told him. We turned and walked out of the door, waiting for John downstairs.

* * *

"Where are we going?" John asked as we walked down the road.

"Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here." Sherlock told him.

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" John asked him.

"No – I think he's brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught." Sherlock told him smiling.

"Why?" John asked him.

"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, John: it needs an audience." Sherlock said and I smiled at his choice of words.

"Yeah." John said staring at him pointedly. Sherlock was oblivious to the implication and spun around to indicate the entire area as he continued to talk.

"This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go." Sherlock said holding his hands up on either side of his head as if to focus his thought. "Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

"Dunno. Who?" John asked him.

"We haven't the faintest. Hungry?" I asked him as Sherlock lowered his hands. We lead John into a small restaurant where a waiter near the door who knew us gestured to a reserved table at the front window.

"Thank you, Billy." Sherlock said helping me with my coat before taking off his own and sitting on the bench seat of the table and immediately turned sideways so that he could see clearly out of the window. As Billy took the 'Reserved' sign off the table, John sat down on the other bench seat with his back to the window, and took off his jacket.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." Sherlock told us and I sat next to him looking out the window past him.

"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad." John said looking at us.

"He has killed four people." I reminded John.

"... Okay." John said staring at us. I turned as I heard Angelo walking over to us with a large smile on his face.

"Sherlock." Angelo shook hands with him before turning to me opening his arms. "Amy. Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free." he said laying some menus on the table for us. "On the house, for you and for your date." Angelo said looking between the three of us.

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked John as John turned to Angelo.

"I'm not their date." John told him.

"These two got me off a murder charge." Angelo told John.

"This is Angelo." I introduced them and Angelo offered his hand to John who shook it. "Three years ago we successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking." I said as Sherlock was busy looking for our murderer.

"They cleared my name." Angelo told him.

"We cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?" Sherlock asked Angelo.

"Nothing." Angelo told him as he turned back to John. "But for them, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison." I reminded him.

"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic." Angelo said walking away.

"I'm not their date!" John called to him.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." Sherlock told John. Angelo came back with a small glass bowl containing a lit tea-light and put it onto the table and gave John a thumbs-up before walking away again.

"Thanks!" John called to him before looking at his menu again.

* * *

Some time later, John had a plate of food in front of him and was eating from it. Sherlock and my own attention was fixed out of the window and he quietly drummed his fingers on the table.

"People don't have arch-enemies." John said suddenly. It took a moment for Sherlock to finally look at him while I looked at him confused.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked him.

"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen." John told us.

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull." Sherlock told him while looking out the window again.

"So who did I meet?" John asked us.

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" I asked him.

"Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don't like ... Girlfriends, boyfriends ..." John said looking at us.

"Yes, well, as I was saying – dull." Sherlock told him and I looked back out the window, avoiding John's gaze.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" John asked him. I could still feel his eyes on me but I ignored him.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." Sherlock told him.

"Mm." John said. A moment passed before he asked another question. "Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?" Sherlock looked around at him sharply. "Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine." Sherlock told him.

"So you've got a boyfriend then?" John asked him.

"No." Sherlock told him.

"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good." John said looking back down at his plate. Sherlock looked at him suspiciously for a moment but then turned back to the window. However, he then appeared to replay John's statement in his head and looked a little startled in the reflection. He turned his head towards John again.

"John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any ..." Sherlock told him but John interrupted him.

"No. No, I'm not asking. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine." John told him. Sherlock looked at him a moment before nodding.

"Good. Thank you." Sherlock said looking out the window again. "Look across the street. Taxi." John twisted in his seat to look out of the window where a taxi was parked at the side of the road with its back end towards us.

"Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out." I said.

"Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?" Sherlock asked himself.

"That's him?" John asked staring out the window.

"Don't stare." Sherlock told him.

"You're staring." John said staring at the two of us.

"We can't all stare." he said. Sherlock and I quickly got to our feet, grabbed our coats and his scarf and headed for the door. Outside the door, Sherlock and I put our coats on while staring at the taxi.. The passenger was looking around him, then turned and looked out the back window. His gaze falls on the restaurant and he looks at it for a few moments while Sherlock and I stared back at him, then the man turned towards the front of the vehicle and the taxi began to pull away from the kerb. Sherlock and I immediately head towards it without bothering to check the road that we're running into and we were almost run over by a car coming from our left. The driver slammed on the brakes and stopped the car before he hit us but while I walked around the car, Sherlock, always keen to take the quickest route, allows his forward impetus to carry him onto the top of the bonnet. He rolled over the bonnet, landed on his feet on the other side and then we ran after the taxi. We ran a few yards up the road before realizng that we weren't going to catch the taxi and slowed to a halt letting John catch up to us.

"I've got the cab number." John told us.

"Good for you." I said smiling at him as Sherlock brought his hands up to either side of his head and concentrated.

"Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights." Sherlock said quickly before lifting his head and looking forward. Sherlock raced with us behind him towards a man. He grabbed him, shoved him out of the way before charging into the building.

"Oy!" The man called out as I passed him.

"Sorry." John called to him and we raced up the stairs and out onto a metal spiral fire escape staircase leading to the roof.

"Come on, John." Sherlock called behind him. When we reached the top of the stairs, Sherlock and I ran to the edge and looked over before we saw a shorter metal spiral staircase leading down the side of the building to another door one floor lower. We galloped down the stairs and climbed onto the railing before leaping across the gap to the next building. Sherlock and I ran across to the other side of the roof and again leapt across to the next building. "Come on, John. We're losing him!" Sherlock called again. We dropped down onto a walkway along the side of the building, the continued to run onward. We galloped down another metal staircase, then ran to a ledge and dropped down into an alleyway before running onward again. We turned the corner and raced down the last part of the alley, only to see the taxi drive past the end, heading to the left. "Ah, no!" Sherlock said angrily before racing to the end of the alley and turning right with me following him. "This way." Sherlock called to John. I turned and watched John turn left and running away from us.

"No, this way!" I called to him.

"Sorry." John called as he turned around and followed us. We ran down the street, going down more alleyways and side streets. Sherlock and I raced out of a side street and hurled ourselves into the path of the approaching cab, which screeched to a halt as we crashed hard into the bonnet. Scrabbling in his left coat pocket, Sherlock pulled out an I.D. badge and flashes it at the driver as he ran to the right hand side of the cab.

"Police! Open her up!" Sherlock said panting heavily, tugging open the rear door and we stared in at the passenger, who looked at us anxiously. Instantly Sherlock straightened up in exasperation just as John joined us. "No." Sherlock said leaning down again to look at the passenger a second time. "Teeth, tan: what – Californian?" Sherlock asked the man before looking at something on the floor. I followed his gaze and sighed before straightened up. I looked at the shock and slight fear on the mans face and sighed again.

"L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived." I said as he straightened up again.

"How can you possibly know that?" John asked us.

"The luggage." Sherlock told him. "It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?" Sherlock asked the man.

"Sorry – are you guys the police?" he asked us.

"Yeah." Sherlock said flashing the I.D. at him briefly. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah." The man told us, smiling. Sherlock and I paused for a moment before smiling falsely at him.

"Welcome to London." Sherlock and I said before immediately walking away.

"Er, any problems, just let us know." I heard John say before the door was slammed shut. "Basically just a cab that happened to slow down."

"Basically." I told him.

"Not the murderer." John said.

"Not the murderer, no." Sherlock said.

"Wrong country, good alibi." John told us.

"As they go." Sherlock told him switching the I.D. card from one hand to another.

"Hey, where-where did you get this? Here." John asked us reaching for the card and Sherlock released it. "Right. Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat." Sherlock told him. John suddenly started giggling silently and I gave him a look.

"What?" I asked him.

"Nothing, just: "Welcome to London"." John repeated and Sherlock chuckled and I started laughing with them. I looked at them to see Sherlock looking at the cab. I followed his gaze to see the passenger had gotten out and was pointing to us.

"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked us.

"Ready when you are." John said and we ran off down the road.

* * *

When we got back to 221B we all took off our coats and laid them in various places.

"Okay, that was ridiculous." John said as we all leaned against the wall trying to catch out breath. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan." Sherlock reminded him and John giggled. After a moment Sherlock and I both began to laugh.

"That wasn't just me." John reminded us. "Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

"Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway." I told him.

"So what were we doing there?" John asked us and Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Oh, just passing the time. And proving a point." Sherlock told him.

"What point?" John asked him.

"You." Sherlock told him and I turned and called loudly towards Gran's flat.

"Gran! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs." I told her.

"Says who?" John asked me.

"Says the man at the door." Sherlock told him as someone knocked on the door three times. I smiled as John turned to look at us in surprise before walking along the hall to answer the door. Sherlock leaned his head against the wall and blew out a breath.

"See, I told you everything would be okay." I told him and he just smiled down at me. "Sometimes you have to trust me."

"I've always trusted you Amy." he told me and he reached up and moved hair out of my face. Gran came out of her flat and hurried over to us as John joined us.

"Sherlock, Amy, what have you done?" Gran asked us fearfully.

"Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock asked her, worried.

"Gran? What is it? What's wrong?" I asked her.

"Upstairs." she told us and we hurried upstairs. Sherlock opened the living room door and we went inside, finding D.I. Lestrade sitting casually in the armchair facing the door. I looked around to see other police officers were going through our possessions.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked storming to him.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." Lestrade told us.

"You can't just break into our flat." I told him.

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat." Lestrade told us.

"Well, what do you call this then?" Sherlock asked motioning to the cops everywhere.

"It's a drugs bust." Lestrade told us innocently staring straight at Sherlock. I looked at Sherlock and we both went silent.

"Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" John asked Lestrade and Sherlock turned and walked closer to me, biting his lip nervously.

"John..." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, it'll be all right." I whispered to him.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." John told Lestrade.

"John, you probably want to shut up now." I told him.

"Yeah, but come on ..." John said looking at us for a long moment and realizes how serious we are about him wanting to shut up.

"No." he said.

"What?" Sherlock asked him.

"You?" John asked him.

"Shut up!" Sherlock told him angrily before turning back to Lestrade. "We're not your sniffer dogs." Sherlock told the older man.

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." Lestrade told us nodding to the kitchen.

"What, An..." We turned to the closed doors to the kitchen and watched them slide open and reveal several more officers in there searching through the room. Anderson turned toward the living room and raised his hand in a sarcastic greeting to us.

"Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?" I asked him angrily.

"Oh, I volunteered." Anderson told us venomously. Sherlock turned away, biting his lip angrily.

"They all did. They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Lestrade told us and I saw Donovan walk towards the door, holding a small glass jar.

"Are these human eyes?" she asked us.

"Put those back!" Sherlock told her.

"They were in the microwave!" She said.

"It's an experiment." He said to her.

"Keep looking, guys." Lestrade said standing up then turning to us. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish." I told him as Sherlock paced between us.

"Well, I'm dealing with children. Sherlock, Amy, this is our case. I'm letting you two in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" he asked us and Sherlock stopped pacing and glared at him.

"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock asked him.

"It stops being pretend if they find anything." Lestrade told him.

"I am clean!" Sherlock told him loudly.

"Is your flat? All of it?" Lestrade asked turning to me and I glared at him.

"I don't even smoke." Sherlock told him, oblivious to Lestrade implying anything about me. He unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirt and pulled it up to show the nicotine patch on his lower arm.

"Neither do I." Lestrade said pulling up the right sleeve of his own shirt to show a similar patch on his arm. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away and they both pull their sleeves back down again.

"So let's work together. We've found Rachel." Lestrade told us.

"Who is she?" I asked him.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter." Lestrade told us.

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?" Sherlock asked.

"Never mind that. We found the case." Anderson said pointing to the pink case in the living room. "According to some people, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopaths."

"We're not psychopaths, Anderson. We're high-functioning sociopaths. Do your research." Sherlock told him turning back to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead." Lestrade told us.

"Excellent!" Sherlock said and I smiled at him.

"How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be." I told them.

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." Lestrade told us and I shared a confused look with Sherlock.

"No, that's ... that's not right. How ... Why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock asked.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?! Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now." Anderson told us and I rolled my eyes,

"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt." I told him as Sherlock began to pace back and forth across the room again.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." John suggested and Sherlock stopped and turned to him.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" Sherlock asked. I looked around and saw everyone in the flat had stopped what they were doing and had fallen silent. I glanced at Sherlock to see him look awkwardly at John and I. "Not good?" he asked us.

"Bit not good, yeah." John told him. Sherlock shook it off and stepped closer to John and I looking at us intently.

"Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?" Sherlock asked us.

""Please, God, let me live."" John told him.

"Oh, use your imagination!" Sherlock told him.

"I don't have to." John told us and I touched his arm comfortingly.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever." Sherlock said pacing again.

"She's trying to tell us something." I said as we thought about what was going on. I noticed my Gran coming to the door of the living room.

"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock." She told him.

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." Sherlock said continuing to pace as Gran looked around the room.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?" Gran asked.

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson." John told her.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers." Gran told John.

"Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off." Sherlock told everyone.

"What? My face is?!" Anderson asked him.

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back." Lestrade ordered.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Anderson said.

"Your back, now, please!" Lestrade ordered again.

"Come on, think. Quick!" Sherlock said to himself.

"What about your taxi?" Gran asked him.

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlock shouted furiously. She turned and hurried away down the stairs. Sherlock looked around, understanding written all over his face. "Oh." he said smiling in delight. "Ah! She was clever, clever, yes!" He walked across the room and then looked back to us. "She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him." Sherlock told us as he paced again. "When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."

"But how?" Lestrade asked him.

"Wha...? What do you mean, how?" Sherlock asked him and he shrugged. "Rachel!" he said looking triumphantly at everyone. I looked around at them to see them looking blankly. "Don't you see? Rachel!" he said again and Sherlock laughed in disbelief. "Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing." Sherlock said and I gave him a look. "Rachel is not a name." Sherlock told them sternly.

"Then what is it?" John asked him.

"John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address." I told him. John looked at the label on the case and read out the address for Sherlock who was sitting at the computer.

"jennie . pink mephone . org .uk." he told us and Sherlock typed in the web address.

"Oh, I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone, it's e-mail enabled." Sherlock told us pulling up the website and typing in the email address into the username box. "So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address and all together now, the password is?" Sherlock asked.

"Rachel." John said walking to us.

"So we can read her e-mails. So what?" Anderson asked him.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street." I told him.

"We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her." Sherlock said.

"Unless he got rid of it." Lestrade told us.

"We know he didn't." John told him as Sherlock looked at the screen impatiently.

"Come on, come on. Quickly!"Sherlock told the computer. I heard someone coming upstairs and I looked behind us to see Gran trotting up the stairs.

"Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver ..." She said but Sherlock got to his feet and walked over towards her.

"Mrs Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" he asked her. John sat down on the chair which Sherlock vacated and watched a clock spinning round on the website as it claimed that the phone would be located under three minutes. "We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last for ever."

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name." Lestrade told him.

"It's a start!" I shouted at him as on the computer a map had appeared and was zooming in on the location of the phone.

"Sherlock. Amy ..." John called to us.

"Yeah, I see it." I told him.

"It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had." Sherlock told Lestrade.

"Sherlock ..." John called to him knowing he had my attention.

"What is it? Quickly, where?" Sherlock asked him looking at the map.

"It's here. It's in two two one Baker Street." I told him.

"How can it be here? How?" Sherlock asked straightening up.

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere." Lestrade suggested and I gave him a look.

"What, and we didn't notice it? Me is one thing but Sherlock? Sherlock didn't notice?" I asked him.

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back." John told Lestrade.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim ..." Lestrade called out ignoring us and I rolled my eyes. I looked at Sherlock and watched him turning, putting everything together.

"Sherlock, you okay?" I asked him as he looked down at his phone.

"What? Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine." Sherlock lied to me.

"So, how can the phone be here?" John asked him.

"Dunno." Sherlock said and I followed his gaze to see no one except Gran.

"I'll try it again." John said pulling out his phone.

"Good idea." Sherlock said going to the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked him.

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long." he told me. I frowned as I watched him go.

"You sure you're all right?" I asked him.

"I'm fine." he said going downstairs. I turned back to John to see he had his phone held to his ear looking out of the window. A cab could be heard as it pulled away and I looked out the window and watched it leave.

"He just got in a cab." John said turning to Lestrade. "It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab."

"I told you, he does that." Donovan told John before turning to Lestrade. "He bloody left again. We're wasting our time!"

"I'm calling the phone. It's ringing out." John told us. Lestrade watched John as he continued to hold his phone to his ear.

"If it's ringing, it's not here." Lestrade told John.

"Like Sherlock and I told you." I told him leaning against the window. John lowered his phone and reached for the computer.

"I'll try the search again." John told us as Donovan came back to Lestrade.

"Does it matter? Does any of it? You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time." She told him and Lestrade stared at her for a long moment as she held his gaze and he sighed.

"Okay, everybody. Done 'ere." Lestrade called out. He and his offers left, but before Lestrade left he turned to John and I.

"Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?" Lestrade asked us.

"You know him better than I do." John told him. I just turned to the window bringing everything together trying to come to the same conclusion that Sherlock had before he'd left.

"I've known him for five years and no, I don't." Lestrade told John.

"So why do you put up with him?" John asked.

"Because I'm desperate, that's why." Lestrade said walking to the door before turning back. "And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one." he turned and left at those words and I watched him go. Suddenly it clicked in my head, everything came together.

"Oh, I'm such an idiot!" I said going to the computer and messing with it to find the phone again.

"What are you doing?" John asked me.

"Think about it. Jennifer Wilson planted her phone on her killer so the question is who killed her. But a question we should have been asking is who drove her. In her pocket was a ticket from Cardiff to London, so she didn't drive and she wouldn't have had one of her lovers drive her with her wedding band still on. So, who drove her" I asked him.

"I don't know. A rental car or a taxi maybe." he said and his face lit up with recognition at what I was saying.

"Exactly." I said. "Gran said Sherlock's taxi was here but you and I both know he didn't call for a cab." I said watching the clock spinning on the screen as the site searched for her phone again. The computer beeped triumphantly and a map appeared on the screen and zoomed in on the location of the phone. I grabbed the notebook and took it with me as I ran out the door. John followed me quickly and we called a taxi to take us to our location.

* * *

John and I were in the back of a taxi with the computer on my lap while John was on the phone.

"No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It's important. It's an emergency!" John told the person on the other end.

"Left here." I told the cabbie as he drove.

* * *

When we arrived at Roland-Kerr College, I tucked the notebook into my jacket and looks at the two identical buildings in front of us. The map wasn't precise enough to indicate exactly where the phone was. After a moment, we made our choice and headed towards the buildings. We ran through the corridors of the College calling Sherlock's name and checking every room. we burst through a set of double doors and stared ahead to see Sherlock... in the other building.

"SHERLOCK!" I called out trying to get his attention from across the buildings but he didn't hear me. Suddenly John pulled out a gun and aimed it at the two men. We waited to see what would happen and when it looked like Sherlock was going to take the poison John fired. He lowered his gun when the man went down and we left so we could make it look like we'd never been there.

* * *

Later, outside the college, we saw Sherlock sitting on the back steps of an ambulance. A paramedic put an orange blanket around his shoulders as Lestrade walked over to him. I made sure to see what they had on the shooting.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me." Sherlock told him.

"Yeah, it's for shock." Lestrade told him.

"I'm not in shock." Sherlock said.

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." Lestrade said grinning making Sherlock roll his eyes.

"So, the shooter. No sign?" Sherlock asked him.

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but got nothing to go on." Lestrade said and Sherlock gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Sherlock told him and Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Okay, gimme." Lestrade told him and Sherlock stood up.

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service ..." as he was talking he looked and saw us standing behind the police tape. "... and nerves of steel ..." he trailed off As John looked at him innocently before turning his head away. "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."

"Sorry?" Lestrade asked him.

"Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking." Sherlock said before walking to us.

"Where're you going?" Lestrade asked him.

"I just need to talk about the-the rent." Sherlock lied to him.

"But I've still got questions for you." Lestrade said.

"Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" Sherlock said in irritation while brandishing the sides of the blanket at the sides..

"Sherlock!" Lestrade said crossing his arms at him.

"And I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less." Sherlock reminded him and Lestrade looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go." Lestrade said and Sherlock walked to us. He took the blanket from his shoulders, bundled it up, and tossed it through an open window of a police car before ducking under the police tape.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." John said and Sherlock stared at him for a moment.

"Good shot." Sherlock said quietly.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window." John said looking back at the College.

"Well, you'd know." I told him and John gazed at us trying not to let his expression give him away.

"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." Sherlock told him and John cleared his throat before looking around nervously. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course I'm all right." John told him.

"Well, you have just killed a man." Sherlock reminded him.

"Yes, I ..." John tailed off and Sherlock and I watched him closely. "That's true, innit?" he smiled at us but Sherlock continued to watch him for a moment.

"He wasn't a very nice man." I said bringing their attention to me. Sherlock glanced from John to me before nodding in agreement.

"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?" Sherlock asked us.

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie." John said and Sherlock chuckled as we started to walk away.

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!" Sherlock told us and John chuckled while I laughed lightly. I glanced at Sherlock to see him smiling.

"Stop! Stop, we can't laugh, it's a crime scene! Stop it!" John said unable to stop his laughing.

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me." Sherlock told him.

"Keep your voice down!" John said instantly sobering up.

"Sorry – it's just, um, nerves, I think." John said to Sally as she walked by.

"Sorry." Sherlock and I called to her. John cleared his throat and we waited to talk until she walked away.

"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" I asked Sherlock and he turned to me.

"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up." Sherlock said, but I had a feeling he was lying.

"No you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever." John said.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked him.

"Because you're an idiot." John said and Sherlock smiled at him before forcing it down.

"Dinner?" I asked them.

"Starving." John said and we walked away again.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." Sherlock told us.

"Sherlock. Amy. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about." John told us and we looked at the man.

"We know exactly who that is." I told him as we walked closer to the man who smiled pleasantly to Sherlock who just looked angry.

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" he asked us.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked him.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you." he told him and I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, we've been hearing about your 'concern'." I told him.

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that the three of us belong on the same side?" he asked us.

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock told him.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and we all know how it always upset Mummy." he told us and I gave him a look.

"We upset her? Us?" Sherlock asked him and he glowered at us. "It wasn't us that upset her, Mycroft." Sherlock told him.

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?" John asked.

"Mother – their mother. This is Sherlock's brother, Mycroft." I introduced them.

"Putting on weight again?" Sherlock asked Mycroft.

"Losing it, in fact." Mycroft told him.

"He's his brother?!" John asked me shocked.

"Of course he's his brother." I told him.

"So he's not ..." John started asking but stopped.

"Not what?" Sherlock asked him.

"I dunno – criminal mastermind?" John asked and Mycroft grimaced at John even suggesting it. Sherlock and I, on the other hand, looked at Mycroft disparagingly.

"Close enough." Sherlock told him.

"For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government." Mycroft told him.

"He is the British government." Sherlock corrected him.

"And that's when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." I told John and Mycroft sighed.

"Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." Sherlock said and we walked away.

"So: dim sum." John said.

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies." Sherlock told him.

"No you can't." I told him.

"Almost can. You did get shot, though." Sherlock said to John.

"Sorry?" John asked not following.

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound." Sherlock said.

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder." John told us.

"Shoulder! I thought so." Sherlock told him.

"No you didn't." John told him.

"The left one." I said.

"Lucky guess." John told me.

"We never guess." Sherlock told him.

"Yes you do." John laughed. I looked to Sherlock to see him smiling.

"What are you so happy about?" I asked him.

"Moriarty." Sherlock told me.

"What's Moriarty?" I asked him, smiling.

"I've absolutely no idea." Sherlock said cheerfully.


End file.
